


it must be better than talking about it

by thearchivistt



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Jane is lonely, its also really bad sorry, this is really just me shipping a character i kin with a character i want to date, umm idk how this works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearchivistt/pseuds/thearchivistt
Summary: there is a wasps nest in jane’s attic.
Relationships: Jane Prentiss/Helen Richardson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	it must be better than talking about it

**Author's Note:**

> umm this is my first time writing anything creatively in like two years and it’s. not very good but i couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here it is! the title is from a letter by the brobecks and i also have no clue how to post things on here so if i got anything wrong pls tell me
> 
> trigger warnings for bugs and skin picking

Helen-  
I’m probably never going to send this to you. But I remember from those three therapy sessions I went to all those years ago that writing is supposed to help you feel better or something so… here goes nothing.  
How have you been? It’s been what, five years since we last spoke? I really do regret what I said, you know, but it’s probably for the best we haven’t seen each other. I’m working at that crystal shop, remember the one we went to that one time? You said it was stupid, and I pretended to agree, but I secretly loved it. I was even a practicing witch for a little while, but I don’t believe in all of that anymore. But I do like working at the shop.  
There’s a wasp’s nest in my attic. I can always hear it, and my landlord won’t listen to me when I tell him about it. I swear sometimes the buzzing sounds like a song.  
I’m sure you’ve heard about my… breakdown. It wasn’t my proudest moment. Money has always been an issue, but it’s gotten progressively worse in the years since we broke up. And of course I’m sure you know I lost all my friends.  
It’s really my own fault. They told me I’m toxic and too dependent on them and the worst part is that they’re right. Five years and I haven’t changed a bit.  
This wasn’t really all that therapeutic. I don’t know why I’m even still writing. I think I’m going to stick this under my bed and forget about it for the next several years.  
Jane

Helen-  
What do you do when your coworker asks where you were instead of work yesterday? Do you tell her how instead of emailing your boss back when he had the same question, you sat and stared at the computer screen for half an hour picking at the skin on your lips until they bled? Or do you tell her about the wasp hive in your attic, the one that’s song was so loud you couldn’t get out of bed yesterday? Or do you just say you’re doing fine, I just wasn’t feeling well yesterday, thank you for asking.  
I am not fine. If I could afford therapy maybe I’d do it, but I can hardly keep up with rent at this point, or afford groceries, or anything else. I need friends again, but I don’t think I can afford those either.  
I told myself I wasn’t going to write to you again, but now here we are. There’s no one else for me to talk to except for the hive, so I might as well write to my ex that I haven’t spoken to in years.  
On my way to work, I saw a dead animal on the side of the road. It was being swarmed by ants or something. I don’t think anything’s ever going to love me the way those ants loved that dead squirrel, and it’s terrifying. Do you ever feel like that? Like the only time you’ll ever actually be loved is by the bugs and worms that find your body once it’s underground?  
I wonder how you’re doing. You’re a real estate agent now, right? Not really what I expected you to do, but I bet you’re good at it. You were always the more put-together of the two of us.  
I think I miss you, Helen. I feel stupid thinking that, much less writing it down. It’s been five years, we’re both adults, actually adults now. But I think I do. Maybe I’m just that fucking lonely.  
Jane

Helen-  
I had to quit my job today. It was stupid of me, but there were so many ants in the basement and no one would listen to me about them. It was awful. Maybe this is another mental breakdown. No, I don’t think it is, I don’t feel like I did then. Ironically enough, my head feels the clearest it has in months.  
The wasps are still singing to me. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore. They’re telling me that with them I’ll be loved and I think they’re right. I keep thinking about that dead animal and the ants.  
God, I’m seriously considering calling you right now. I’m not even drunk. I think I’m gonna do it.  
Jane

Helen-  
I don’t know what I expected to happen.  
It was going so well at first. You were the first person I’d had a real conversation with in months. You listened.  
But then I messed it up. Of course I did. I thought you would get it. I thought if anyone would get it, it would be you. But you just gave me that look I’ve come to expect from anyone I speak to anymore and the “Jane, have you tried talking to a professional? I can give you the number of my therapist’s office. I’m concerned for you.”  
I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry for that, I really am, but I meant what I said. I’m not crazy, Helen, and the wasps nest is right. With them, I’ll be loved. I can finally know what it’s like to be that animal with it’s ants.  
Jane

Helen-  
Have you ever been to the Magnus Archives? I gave a statement there today. The Archivist was kind to me. She called me “dear.”  
The hive’s song is too loud to ignore anymore. Everything itches all the time and I think the hive will help it go away. The hive loves me, I know that now, but not in the way that I once loved you. It’s hard to put into words, but I know that the hive’s love is infinite and smothering and God, I’m terrified. But I can’t sit down here writing to a person I know now I’ll never see again when I know that I could be with the hive instead.  
I am sorry, Helen, for what happened. Maybe if you or my friends or anyone had been like the hive, I would’ve stuck around, but I know no person could possibly understand. Even I don’t, not completely, but I do know that it’s too late for me. I think… I think it always has been. It’s funny, I can hardly remember a time before the hive.  
There is a wasp’s nest in my attic, and it is singing to me. It has been singing to me for as long as I have been alive, and I think it’s finally time I go listen.  
Jane


End file.
